Welcome to Fidgets and Fries. Somewhat free. Somewhat not. If you’d like to honor my writings with a monetary contribution, thank you. If you already have, thank you. Your support allows me to invest in my writing in a way I hadn’t thought possible as well as pay for my son’s communication lessons. And if you are still an unpaid subscriber, thank you. Cause in a world where everyone wants their eyes on their work, you still chose to put your gaze on mine. This newsletter rests at the intersection of the unserious ramblings of a woman full of buttered rice and dad jokes and the somewhat sophisticated stories and essays of someone who knows just enough “smart” words to sound super intelligent and insightful.
What will today’s newsletter be? Hmm…
I once wrote (click above story) about not feeling as though I am allowed to not be okay with being fat. I honestly thought my feelings around this would change with time and some growth, but I really only placed those feelings in cement and buried them deep. It’s not that I am opposed to body positivity, it’s that I wonder if many understand how it can trend towards harm. Or perhaps this is the fault of those who can get a bit rabid in their support and advocacy? Whatever and whoever is responsible, body positivity has often left me feeling like, “damn I can’t even not like being fat.”
And I don’t.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I feel like I am a really pretty fat woman. But I don’t like being fat. I can’t tell you if part of this is how society would perceive me, I haven’t taken some internal inventory or analysis on this. I can tell you that I don’t like how I look in clothes. I don’t like how they fit me. I don’t like how they can highlight some parts of my body that I just don’t care to be highlighted. And having said this, I will say that there are some incredible plus size clothes out there that can soften those feelings that I have about myself in clothes and even have me thinking, “DAAAAAMMMMMNNNN, I LOOK GOODT.”
And DO.
Like Lane Bryant be almost having me thinking I don’t need to lose no weight.
This is a conversation that I don’t think I can dive into at the moment. That one about how clothing can boost my confidence. How looking good makes you feel good. Then that throws a wrench in my not thinking that society is largely to blame for how I feel about myself. There’s a lot of layers to unpack here. I don’t lack confidence in my skin, I just don’t like the extra skin. I don’t like the rolls I have. I don’t like the double chin. I don’t like the fluffy cheeks. I don’t like my thick thighs that will eventually ruin every pair of pants I own, including the ones I have on right now.
I know, this feels the opposite of confident. While I don’t like these things about myself, I rock the hell out of them, until I am where I want to be.
And I will get to where I want to be. I just wonder at times if the journey is worth documenting? Shortly before I took my social media break, I came across a few posts with a lot of comments that talked about how progress photos was horrible for the mental health of those in community with not only that account but for those who may stumble across those profiles.
I been here before. I talked about this before. I still don’t know how to feel about this. It’s like in some way, I can see the argument. But it feels like I need to use a lot of words and creativity to articulate why I would be in alignment with this line of thinking. Things always bother me when I have to do that. I feel like things should just click for me. But alas, tis the nature of my disability though. You don’t get easy, Tiff. Chill.
For many, the reasoning was pretty simple, it would make people feel as though they needed to be thin to feel better about themselves. And seeing tons of these images would reinforce this. This wasn’t really my experience when looking at these images, but I am mindful of those who do feel this way, so I just listen and absorb what is said around me.
I rather enjoy looking at the journey of others. I like to see where they were to where they are. Right now, I am keeping my progress photos to myself. They are keeping me focused. I like knowing that I can see the results of my hard work even if I cannot feel it, or the scale is being an ass. But I will say that spending too much time looking at the progress photos can do a number on me. Not all the time but sometimes. This happens when I start to compare my journey with theirs. I will look at how long they took to get to this milestone or goal weight. I will think about how I need to be in a better place than I am. If I allow myself to go there, then it’s a bit difficult to get out of that season of comparison. I limit my progress photos to just a few a week. And I make it a point to not read anything else about their journey. I don’t want to risk comparing myself to them.
I don’t know if I will ever share my progress photos. But I do take them. I need every bit of motivation I can get. I am not healthy, and while many can be fat and healthier than those who are thin…I am not one of those ppl. The extra weight I carry is harming me. It is breaking me down. It is breaking my joints down. I have high blood pressure, my asthma is worse, I have sleep apnea, and more. At 38 years old, I am being monitored by a cardiologist.
This isn’t acceptable to me. This isn’t acceptable for me.
What about y’all? How do y’all feel about progress photos? I am still on the fence about them as a whole, but I do take my own.
I am going to periodically post about this journey of mine. So far, so good. Slipped a little, but got back up.
And if you have the time, check out the previous newsletter about this topic.
I have been fat and thin many times. But the feeling of being FAT stayed no matter what I appeared. Fat is all I ever noticed about my body.
My body, particularly it's fat, has taken a lot of abuse.
Abuse by the people who brought me into this world and didn't approve of the vessel I came in. It was the lesser form of female, too tall, inadequately feminine, not round or flat in the "right" ways.
But despite their negative opinions my body has never let me down. It delivered the people that only my body could have created. It delivered stamina and resilience when I was sure no more could be found. It fed and nourished my intelligence and sensitivity.
My fat piled on before my growth spurts and during high stress, while my peers stayed slim. It came back with abundance during pregnancy and through the nursing. I was never a pretty new mom. But you wouldn't know this. There is no evidence. Because I never let them take my picture. I didn't want to be reminded of all the times my doctors and others warned me about my weight gain.
I add pounds quickly and never in the manner others expect. It took too long to learn this is just how I am supposed to work. That my fat was there when it was needed. It helped me create amazing people. The first of which was me. But it wasn't until I created several others, much later, that I learned to reframe it's value in beautiful way.
Now my only regret is I didn't have better doctors and wasn't born to a kinder family of origin.
Now I am thankful my fatness turned my focus away from me and showed me how to love others in ways I never received.
Fat is a word that represents so much more than the three letters in it. Fat should have an I or a me in the middle because then it would better represent fat for what it is. It is the insulation and reserves nature swaddles me in to help me through life's journey.
But FAT has an A in the middle. An A that represents A society that sees it as made for others. Which allows them to freely share their reactions to what is just the outside.
Fat would be fit if I had my way. Fit because it expands to fit multiple people and care for all of them. Fit because it fits the story of so many, not just mine. Fit because it the fitness that I am supposed to be. Fit because it fits me, it always has and always will.
Thank you for sharing. I loved your piece.